


Dawn Rising

by inylan



Category: Chronicles of Narnia (Movies)
Genre: C.S. Lewis would be horrified, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, but it surprisingly holds up, i wrote this years ago and kind of forgot about it, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29648655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inylan/pseuds/inylan
Summary: Caspian doesn't like dealing with emotions. Peter won't go away. Awkwardness pervades. Perviness ensues.
Relationships: Caspian/Peter Pevensie
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Dawn Rising

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote and originally posted this in 2010 on a platform that is no longer. So that is has a home, I'm cross-posting it here, but be warned, this has not been edited at all since then.
> 
> With that, please enjoy this selection from the archives of a fandom that was a blip on my radar for just long enough to use it for smutty purposes. ;)

Caspian huddled on the chilled stone outcropping, his eyes seeing nothing as they roved the darkness, but not for lack of sight. The defeat at the castle that night had been so complete, so resounding, that he had retreated deep within himself. He had come out here into the darkness, into the night where even the woodland creatures were keeping a silent vigil in remembrance of the fallen, so that no one and nothing could disturb his ruminations. 

Shut within himself, he did not hear the slide of leather boots against worn stone, or how the sound paused when the owner of said boots came upon Caspian alone and vulnerable on that rocky abutment. He only awoke to the presence of another when a warm weight touched his wind-chilled skin through thin muslin. Startled, hand going for the dagger in his boot, he relaxed slightly when he recognized the anguished face of High King Peter looming above him, grasping Caspian’s shoulder with his hand. 

‘It is cold up here, prince,’ came the boyish voice, always surprising Caspian with the youthfulness of it, never the voice of the king that he had imagined. ‘Come inside with us. It will not do for you to mourn alone, and chilling yourself to the bone will not undo the events that have transpired tonight.’ 

Anger that usually flared within Caspian when Peter spoke was absent, leaving Caspian unsure of how to respond. He searched the visage above him for a moment longer before casting his gaze back out into the nothingness. 

‘No, Peter, I appreciate the gesture, but I prefer to be alone at this time.’ Curse that blasted Telmarine accent; where once he was never aware of it, now it sounded harsh and heavy in his ears compared to that of the High King. 

Unsurprisingly, Peter ignored Caspian’s words and sat beside him, legs dangling over the steep drop. The new heat radiating from Peter raised goose flesh and sent shivers down Caspian’s spine. The dark-haired prince studiously ignored the intrusive presence, yet found it impossible to slip back into his reverie with another so close. Though neither spoke nor moved, even the added sound of Peter’s breaths reverberating off the stone invaded Caspian’s mind. But tonight, despite the disgust and frustration Caspian had harbored within, he could not become annoyed at Peter. 

‘They don’t understand like you do.’ The words came suddenly, Peter’s voice low and emotional, breaking every few words. ‘Edmund, Susan, Lucy – they do not feel the eyes of the Narnians upon them as we do, they are not expected to take action as we are. They have their roles; they too must lead, but they are not thing High King, not the un-crowned Prince who shall bring peace to Narnia again.’ 

Caspian glanced at the other boy out of the corner of his eye. No tears had been shed, for which Caspian was immensely grateful. But Peter’s face, powerful and confident just that afternoon, now held the burdens of someone thrice his age. Lined with disappointment and despair, it spoke of lost hope and terrible guilt. And in that moment Caspian realized that Peter knew the mistake he had made, felt every death that had happened that night, and no longer could he simply sit and blame the High King. 

‘It is not their burden to carry,’ the prince said carefully. ‘I did not want to have my father murdered, or to be forced from my home in the dead of night in order to escape death, but we have no say in it. There is no point in dwelling on what we cannot change, Peter; it is only a waste of time.” 

Peter said nothing, but the darkness faded from his eyes enough to make Caspian relax. In that moment he looked younger than Caspian had ever seen him, his head bowed low as he kicked his feet, his shoulders hunched like a schoolboy waiting to enter the headmaster’s office. 

Peter shook his head, an ironic smile gracing his features as he looked directly at Caspian. ‘I wanted to come back. I couldn’t adjust to life back in my world when we went back. I had gone from being a king, and adult, to an insignificant child whose voice means nothing amidst the shouting of other children.’ Peter paused, his eyes closing as he remembered this other world, a world which Caspian knew very little of. ‘That world is torn by war, a war of machines and destruction with the sole goal of death. The idea of returning to Narnia, the Narnia we had left, was so incredibly tempting.’ 

Peter stopped for a moment. Emotion had choked him; his eyes had turned down, physically attempting to deny this raging internal battle even as he verbally admitted to it. ‘But there has been no respite in Narnia, no peace that I had hoped for. I tried to deny it, tried to act like the king I once was, and it has only led to the death and destruction I wanted to leave behind.’ 

The barrier broke as the final word fell from his mouth. A tear slipped forth, trailing down the curve of Peter’s cheek until it found the hard line of his jaw, melting into the high collar of his shirt. The sight alarmed Caspian. As more tears followed in the silence, disturbed only rarely by a rattling breath from Peter, Caspian reached out, and with the back of his hand wiped them away. 

Peter stilled, the touch taking him by surprise. He made no move to push Caspian away, but neither lifted his gaze from the ground. 

Caspian had shocked himself with this sudden motion, his body seeming to take over where his mind could make no decision. Looking back on the moment, he could never say why he continued trusting this instinctual response, but only that he decided to follow it. 

Caspian trailed the hand down the soft skin of Peter’s face, lifting the High King’s chin just enough so that when he leaned forward their lips met in a brief, frozen kiss. Peter’s lips were pliant against the rough, chapped lips of the Prince, a testament to how much longer Caspian had weathered the elements. 

The King’s response was immediate, and violent. Caspian fell back onto his elbows, scraping the skin through the thin fabric. 

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?’ Peter exclaimed, fingers flying to his violated lips. ‘That . . . what was that?’ 

Unmoving, Caspian simply stared at the other male. ‘I cannot tell you, my King. There was nothing else I could do.’ 

Peter glared at him incredulously, his gaze softening slightly as Caspian examined the torn shirt and bleeding skin. ‘Are you all right?’ 

‘Nothing but a scratch, it is of no consequence.’ Caspian was glad for the inky darkness, for it hid the heat creeping up his neck. The kiss may not have been premeditated, but it had awoken a fire in Caspian’s belly. The lingering sensation of Peter’s flesh against his would not disappear from his skin, but continued to send shivers along his spine. He refused to look up, embarrassed by the rejection and afraid his body would react treacherously if he again laid eyes on Peter. 

Caspian heard the rustle of Peter’s clothes, the creak of his leather boots as the king rose from his sitting position. He closed his eyes, hoping that when he next opened them Peter would be gone and he could imagine that none of this foolishness had ever transpired. 

The moments ticked by relentlessly, and Caspian finally dared to open his eyes and look up. Yet Peter had not moved to leave, but instead offered his hand to Caspian. The blonde’s face was unreadable, but Caspian decided not to deny the opportunity to at least leave on amicable terms, and so grasped the proffered hand. 

The strength of Peter’s grip surprised him, but not nearly as much as the feeling of strong arms wrapping around him, bringing him in close, holding him flush against the frightful heat of Peter’s body. One hand buried itself in his thick tresses and brought Caspian’s lips down to be locked in a desperate kiss; the other strayed beneath the hem of the loose shirt and found its way to a dusky nipple, playing with the puckered flesh until it once again relaxed under such ministrations. 

‘Peter,’ Caspian all but moaned through their kiss. ‘ _Peter –‘  
_

‘Hush, Caspian,’ Peter growled, the hand in Caspian’s hair pulling so tightly that Caspian hissed in pain. ‘Don’t question. Just let me forget for now.’ 

Their mouths crashed together, nothing gentle in the furious assault. Caspian’s numb hands fumbled with the ties of Peter’s jerkin, frustrated with the layers between them. Pushing the offending clothing out of the way, he pulled Peter closer to him, fingers running over the battle-scarred flesh, tracing wounds thousands of years old, yet freshly healed. 

Peter interrupted Caspian’s touches, nipping the skin of his neck before returning to leave a warm trail of feather-light kisses in its wake. Caspian shuddered with lust, slipped his hands down over the curve of Peter’s arse and brought their lower halves together with a stifled gasp. The outline of Peter’s erection pressed through the breeches, jutting hotly into Caspian’s hip and causing his own matching appendage to twitch in response. 

Snapping out of his reverie, Caspian recaptured Peter’s lips with his own, one hand threading through tangled golden strands while the other messily undid the ties at Peter’s waist, his fingers brushing over the sensitive flesh with every twitch. He repeated the action at his own waist, broke the kiss for only a moment to spit into his hand, grabbed both their cocks together and began to stroke. The motion elicited a low groan from Peter, his arms wrapped tightly around the taller boy while his hands gripped the Telmarine’s shoulders, seemingly clinging to Caspian for dear life. 

It took all of Caspian’s self control to keep a steady rhythm and draw out the pleasure. The weight of his own length was familiar, yet against the thick flesh of the High King he felt sensations he had never before imagined. The friction of a touch other than his own hand, the pulsating warmth, the heady smell; they made him see stars behind his tightly shut eyelids, heightening his level of arousal beyond anything he had previously known. 

Through the entire experience Caspian felt Peter’s attempts to return the pleasure, but each time the olive-skinned hand gave a twist or a calloused thumb flitted over the head of the paler of the two cocks, Peter lost the tiny increment of concentration he had worked so hard to muster. Eventually, though, his hand found Caspian’s between them and joined in the stroking, the added pressure creating a tight heat that built as they struggled to maintain composure. 

‘Caspian,’ Peter growled, the sound coming from deep within his throat as he threw back his head and arched into the Prince. It was all Caspian needed to hear, increasing his speed to an almost frantic tempo, the blood rushing in his ears and his hips thrusting into the tight grip, flesh on flesh on flesh. He heard Peter’s cry in his shoulder, full of pleasure as the other boy found his release, and with one final stroke emptied himself into their hands, the fluids mixing and drying into a sticky goo in the chill night air. 

Neither moved for a long moment before they met once more for a kiss more tender than any they had yet shared, reddened lips moving slowly and appreciatively. They lingered there, lightly caressing each other while they made themselves proper. 

‘Thank you,’ Peter murmured, leaning back just far enough to look the other boy in the eye. ‘I owe you a great deal, Prince.’ 

‘You are most welcome, my King.’ Caspian brushed a sweat-dampened lock off Peter’s forehead, planting a gentle kiss in its wake. ‘Come, let us join with the others, now that we have set our melancholy aside.’ 

Peter clasped Caspian’s upper arm, a warm smile gracing his features. The two retreated into the How, physically keeping their distance as they had before. Yet the atmosphere between them was no longer fraught with tension, just as the darkness they left behind slipped away with the coming of the dawn.


End file.
